Christmas Comes
by Mary Catherine Marshall
Summary: A tale of Christmas ... UNCLE style


"**Christmas comes …"**

**Mary Catherine Marshall**

Illya Kuryakin stood at the living room windows of his apartment watching the New York traffic twelve floors below. He was particularly interested in the progress of his partner, Napoleon Solo, tall, dark haired, and handsome. Solo was, at that moment, expertly dodging insane taxi drivers bent on acquiring new hood ornaments and middle aged, suburban housewives equally bent on insane last minute shopping forays at Macy's or Gimbels.

The Russian chuckled, thinking that he would never fully understand the American obsession with this particular holiday. Having grown up in the post-war Soviet Union, Illya had few encounters with Christmas until he was a student at The Sorbonne and later at Cambridge. While the French could make a party out of anything and the British enjoyed the traditional trappings of roast goose and Figgy Pudding, neither cultures held a candle to the Capitalistic American incarnation of the season.

His attention was drawn back to the street scene below as Napoleon's foot, clad in expensive, hand-stitched, Italian leather shoes, gained purchase on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building they shared. Illya smiled as Napoleon brushed an imaginary offending substance from his navy blue cashmere coat and paused to flirt with some unsuspecting female passer-by. Only Napoleon Solo could simultaneously balance gaily wrapped Christmas gifts on one arm, fuss over his expensive winter coat with the other, and flirt with a woman he had probably noticed while he dodged traffic.

Illya admired Napoleon's easy charm when it came to women, especially when he used said charm in order to make an assignment move more smoothly and quickly. Often, though, Napoleon's charm confounded their assignments when he was distracted from the work at hand. And, too often in Illya's opinion and experience, it was he who paid the price for Napoleon's distraction. His reverie was interrupted by a coded knock on the door, two short, three long, one short, and three long. He smiled and limped to the door.

Napoleon, cheeks glowing from the cold and dark hair tousled by the brisk winter wind, spilled into the small entry way. Illya barely escaped being buried in his friend's largess.

"Merry Christmas, Tovarisch!" he boomed, smiling at his slender partner. "You look like Tiny Tim!" Illya glanced at his crutches and frowned.

"Tiny Tim was a child, Napoleon," he grumbled. "And, I do not care to be compared to a character in some saccharine morality play." Napoleon laughed and shed his coat, scarf, and gloves.

"Now, now, Illya," he cautioned, hanging his things in the impossibly small closet, "one would think that Dickens would appeal to your proletariat sensibilities … the victory of the downtrodden, the comeuppance of the selfish, capitalistic money-grubber." Illya shook his head and managed to hide his grin. "And," Napoleon continued, "if you continue to be surly, Father Christmas will be forced to leave coal in your stocking!" Illya thumped past and collapsed in the overstuffed Morris chair near the fireplace.

"At least, Napoleon, coal would be a practical gift." Napoleon walked into the Pullman style kitchen and returned with a bottle of frozen Stoli, a bottle of single malt Scotch, and two glasses. He stood before his friend and partner and frowned.

"You **_are_** in a snit, IK," he observed, pouring drinks. "I feel compelled to remind you that your unfortunate incapacitation has nothing to do with me whatsoever." Illya took his glass and offered a derisive snort.

"You are correct … this time." His blue eyes fixed his partner with a glare only slightly warmer than the frozen vodka. Napoleon cringed at the truth of Illya's statement and dropped on the well-worn leather couch.

"I will not be held emotional hostage," Napoleon said, nodding to Illya's foot swaddled in a plaster cast. "I am in no way complicit in this particular instance." Illya signed and drained the glass in one drink.

"Would it have been so difficult, Napoleon, for you to warn me about Miss Taminaka?" Illya asked, settling his foot on a large, down pillow that rested on the beat up coffee table. "I think not!" Napoleon laughed and shook his head.

"How was I to know what you didn't know?" he asked his eyes full of innocence. "I mean really, IK, you're the best jujitsu man in UNCLE New York … hell UNCLE period … and Tammy Taminaka is …" he paused, searching for the best, most biting way to describe the young woman in question. Illya rolled his eyes.

"She is small. She is skilled. She is deadly." Napoleon grinned at the assessment.

"Ah, my wounded brother, she is all that and more!" Illya sorely regretted that there was nothing within reach to use as a projectile.

"I take it, then, that you and Miss Taminaka are better acquainted now?" Napoleon nodded enthusiastically.

"Sure we are. Tammy was beside herself after she broke your ankle and she kept me company in medical while we waited for your new appendage to dry." Illya poured a fresh drink.

"That does not explain why I was held practically incommunicado in medical for nearly 24 hours."

"No it doesn't, does it?" Napoleon freshened his drink and shrugged with something less than sympathy. "I suppose you think that while you languished in medical I was off wining and dining Tammy." Illya closed his eyes in an effort to look severely aggrieved.

"And you were, Napoleon. Dr. Hammontree reported on your whereabouts when I questioned him."

"You really must stop interrogating the medical staff, Illya. No wonder they uniformly hold you in such poor regard." Illya opened his eyes and glared at his partner.

"I do not interrogate the medical staff and there are any number of them who find me …"

"Don't say charming, IK. You shouldn't lie at Christmas time." Once again, Illya regretted that he had nothing to lob at his partner. He pushed up and pointed to the packages.

"You have brought Christmas, Napoleon," he said his accent sounding almost sweet.

"No," Napoleon corrected, stifling his smile, "I've brought packages. What makes you think that you might be the beneficiary of any of them?" Illya smiled sweetly.

"January in Johannesburg ... Medical for two weeks … Paris in March … ICU for five days … Darfur in July … surgery and 6 weeks of recovery … August in Rio …" Napoleon held up his hand.

"Santa does not bring gifts based on job performance."

"If that were the case, Napoleon, then you would need a very large truck to deliver mine." Napoleon laughed in spite of himself.

"You are incorrigible, Illya," he said fondly. "Yes, the packages are for you and some of them are even from me." Illya's face brightened.

"I have gifts from other people, too?" Napoleon thought he looked just like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Contrary to the popular belief, one that I continually encourage, there are those at UNCLE who find you nearly … irresistible." Illya nearly clapped his hands, but refrained. He pushed himself to the edge of this chair, gripped the crutches, and hobbled to the pile of gifts.

"I shall open them now." Napoleon jumped from the couch and blocked Illya's progress.

"Ah, ah, ah, Illya," he warned, "you can't open anything." His large, manicured hands swept the small room. "I mean, you don't even have a Christmas tree!" He shook his head. "No tree, no goodies." Illya made a half-hearted swing with the nearest crutch, lightly connecting with Napoleon's shin. The CEA howled in mock pain.

"Keep that up and all these gifts are going to my apartment and I'll keep them!" Illya laughed and nudged the pile of gifts.

"Tell me, honestly, Napoleon," he asked, his blue eyes serious, "who has given me gifts? You are correct, you know. I am not the most likable person in UNCLE." Napoleon thought that the admission was rather sad, but shrugged and refused to talk.

"Nope, you'll get nothing from me, IK." He crossed the arms of his expensive Saville Row suit and gazed at the ceiling. "I cannot be broken!" The door bell rang and Napoleon wiped his brow in relief. "Saved by the bell!"

He opened the door as Illya hobbled after him and April Dancer and Sherry Owens from Communications spilled into the dreary apartment. April, arms loaded with plain white boxes, glanced around and shook her head.

"This place needs a woman's touch," she announced, pushing Illya gently out of the way. "Merry Christmas, Illya!" Sherry grinned at Illya as she passed, carrying filled aluminum cooking pans. Illya's expression was nothing short of panicked.

"Happy Christmas, mates!" Mark announced, tugging a small evergreen tree in from the hallway. He winked at Napoleon and grinned at Illya. "Where do you want me to put this?"

"Here, Mark," April ordered, spreading a white linen cloth over the round table that stood in front of Illya's living room windows. She produced a tree stand and allowed Mark to wrangle the tree into place.

Illya grabbed Napoleon's arm and tugged. "This is unnecessary, Napoleon." His partner shrugged.

"**_You_** tell them that you don't want Christmas, Illya," he suggested. "I'm not wiling to risk April's ire at this point!" Illya settled himself in his Morris chair and watched, wide-eyed.

"A little assistance would not be unwelcome," Mark growled, trying to balance the tree and screw in the eye-bolts. Sherry hurried to his side and held the tree in place. Mark grinned at April who rolled her eyes. "Thank you, my darling Christmas angel."

"I'll remind you of that the next time you complain about being _interrupted_ for an assignment." Mark managed a completely confused expression.

"I have no idea what you mean, m'dear!"

In mere minutes, Illya's utilitarian apartment was transformed into nothing short of a Currier and Ives Christmas card. Lights on the tree glowed against the gathering dusk, fresh evergreen boughs decorated with gold and silver glass balls draped the mantel and, best of all, and delectable smells wafted from the kitchen.

Napoleon and Mark added a leaf to Illya's small, round table, and scrounged extra chairs. Sherry and April consulted and whispered in the kitchen, opening boxes, stirring pots, and basting the turkey. "Don't forget the table cloth, centerpiece, and candles," April reminded.

"Yes, Miss Vanderbilt," Mark answered, making reference to Amy Vanderbilt, source authority on all things proper and correct. He smoothed the red damask table cloth into place, centered a low, floral piece, and added Illya's plain flat ware. Mark produced his silver lighter and the trio of red candles glowed softly. Napoleon lit the other candles around the room and smiled at the effect.

"Now, all I need is a beautiful woman … and for the rest of you to leave." Mark laughed and April snapped a dirty kitchen towel at Napoleon's ass, but he feinted neatly.

"Try again, April," Illya suggested, chuckling over the rim of his glass of vodka. "His reflexes are slower moving right to left."

"You've got more woman here now with the two of us than you could ever deal with, Napoleon!" He kissed her cheek, but managed to slip out of her grasp. The doorbell rang.

"Napoleon, how many more guests should I expect?" Illya asked, opening the door. "Miss Taminaka!"

"Good evening, Mr. Kuryakin," she said, presenting a distinctive bottle of Matryoshkina vodka. "Thank you for inviting me to your home." She bowed slightly and Illya hobbled aside, giving Napoleon a particularly arctic glare.

"It is my pleasure, Miss Taminaka." Napoleon took her coat and relieved Illya of the bottle.

"Good choice, Tammy," he said, depositing the bottle on the bar. "Illya is quite the Russian vodka coinsure and I'm sure he'll enjoy sharing this with the rest of us."

"Do not hold your breath, Napoleon," Illya growled, taking a defensive stance in front of the gift. Napoleon grinned.

"Dinner is served," April announced. Mark sat the perfectly roasted turkey on the kitchen bar and grabbed the carving knife and fork and while Sherry and April added the side dishes. "Just grab a plate and help yourselves. Illya, point, and I'll make up your plate."

The friends settled themselves around the table and ate, and drank themselves silly. War stories, growing more implausible by the minute, flew around the table. Good natured kidding vied with sincere expressions of affection. They rested then, plates nearly bare, the turkey nothing but a carcass and the serving bowls nearly empty. No one moved from the table for a long while, enjoying the companionable silence, the sweet glow of candlelight, and the priceless gift of having friends near.

Finally, Mark and Napoleon cleared the table and April and Sherry set out pecan and pumpkin pies, whipped crème, and coffee. Illya remained at table with Miss Taminaka.

"I wish to apologize, Mr. Kuryakin, for the injury you have sustained," she said softly, her dark eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Illya turned to face her, surprised at the apology.

"I am fine, Miss Taminaka." He blushed slightly and smiled. "I am at fault for underestimating your skill, an error sometimes committed by my adversaries."

"Nonetheless, sir," she argued gently, "my actions are unacceptable in the extreme." Illya's blue eyes crinkled in a smile and he rested his hand on hers.

"I believe that the Christmas season is defined as one of new beginnings, Miss Taminaka," he said, enjoying the decorations and the efforts of his friends. "Shall we consider, then, that all is forgiven … and that I have learned never again to underestimate you?" Napoleon grinned from the kitchen, nudging April to catch a glimpse of Illya Kuryakin 'flirting'.

April giggled. "I never thought that I would live so long as to see this," she whispered, easing into the crook of Napoleon's arm. "O, the number of women at UNCLE who would kill to be in her place!" Napoleon chuckled.

"And to think, April, all they had to do was fracture his ankle." He dried his hands and glanced at the tree.

"There are gifts languishing beneath the tree," Napoleon called. "And, I'm not one to wait for such things!" He helped Illya into the living room and delivered a huge slice of pumpkin pie buried under a mound of whipped crème and a cup of rich, black coffee. "That should keep you busy for a few minutes."

Everyone gathered in the living room, sitting on large floor pillows, balancing plates of dessert and coffee cups. Illya sent Napoleon to his bedroom closet to retrieve a bag of gifts. "I do not have a gift for Miss Taminaka," Illya whispered.

"Don't worry; I've taken care of it." Napoleon returned and added the contents of the bag to the cluster of gifts beneath Illya's tree. "Okay; Illya's going to play Santa!" He plopped a red velvet Santa hat on his partner's head, ignored the silent, sarcastic roll of eyes, and handed over the first gift. "One rule, though. You have to open the gift before Santa delivers the next one."

"For April, from Napoleon," Illya read, passing the expensively wrapped package to the auburn haired agent. She smiled, wide-eyed, at Napoleon.

"You shouldn't have," she said, her voice soft and sweet in his ear. "But, I'm glad you did." Napoleon chuckled.

"You haven't opened it yet!" April tore into the wrapping paper and then the tissue lined box coming up with a claret red cashmere turtle neck sweater.

"It's beautiful!" she cried, jumping up and kissing the CEA. "Thank you!" Napoleon very nearly blushed.

Mark delighted in a new tweed slouch hat from Illya, a hand knitted Shetland wool sweater from April, a gift certificate from Napoleon for a monthly wash and wax for his MG, and a pale blue chambray shirt from Sherry. Sherry was surprised by a bottle of her favorite perfume from Mark, one too extravagant for her budget. Napoleon wrapped himself in a crimson lamb's wool muffler from April and tugged on a pair of kid skin gloves from Illya. Illya glanced at Napoleon and then shifted his gaze to Tammy the unspoken question of her gift in his eyes. Napoleon grinned and passed a long, narrow box to Illya.

"For Tammy Taminaka from Illya," he read, keeping his eyes firmly affixed to the gift. Tammy smiled shyly and accepted the gift.

"Very kind of you, Mr. Kuryakin, but unnecessary," she said, carefully removing the simple wrapping made of hand decorated rice paper. Her black eyes widened as she unrolled a wall scroll. "My deepest thanks, Mr. Kuryakin." Illya smiled and leaned forward admiring his 'gift'.

April's fingertips brushed the brown brocade paper that bordered the hand painted depiction of two Koi fish. "Beautiful, Illya," she said softly. Napoleon prodded his partner.

"Okay, Illya, tell us everything you know about Koi." Illya glared at his partner but couldn't resist the invitation. The blond smiled at Miss Taminaka.

"Perhaps it would be more fitting for Miss Taminaka to tell us about them." She declined with a nod and waited for his description. "The Koi is an emblem of wealth or abundance. But, when shown as a pair, they represent harmony." April's eyes met Napoleon's and she grinned.

"Fitting after your unfortunate introduction," April noted, ignoring Mark's elbow in her ribs. "I mean, having Tammy clean your clock and all that!" Tammy blushed and returned her gift to its box.

"Again, Kuryakin-san, my deepest apologies for inflicting your injury." She stood gracefully and moved toward the door. "It is late and I must depart." Napoleon frowned.

"Tammy, please, you don't have to leave just yet. We're not due in the office until late tomorrow morning. Why not stay a little longer?" He noticed Illya's pile of unopened presents threatening to tumble to the floor from their unstable perch next to his cast.

"Hey, it's an American tradition that everybody stays until the host had opened all of his gifts." He raised an eyebrow at his partner. "And, I mean **_all_** of his gifts!"

Illya had the look of a deer trapped in oncoming headlights. He recovered quickly. "Yes, that is an **_old_** American tradition," he reiterated giving Napoleon a look that threatened unexpected and long-lasting reprisals. April, a look as innocent as a babe on her pretty face, handed him a richly wrapped box

"Let's start with this one, Illya." He held the box gingerly as if expecting poison gas or an explosion.

The tissue paper box revealed a Matryoshkina doll, nearly identical to one he remembered from his childhood. He smiled, holding the nesting dolls as if they were the most delicate of crystal. "My babushka kept one in the kitchen with all of her chotschkys." His long, slender fingers traced the curve of the doll. "I have not thought of that in … a very long time. Thank you, April … very much."

Other gifts followed. A black Shetland wool turtleneck sweater from Mark; a thick, soft, pale blue velour bath robe from Napoleon; and a box of his favorite, hand-made chocolates from Sherry. He grinned at the chocolates and smiled at Sherry. "I am not expected to share these, am I?" Sherry laughed.

"Only with the giver, Illya!" A single package remained. Tammy presented it shyly.

"Napoleon … Mr. Solo … tells me that you very much enjoy sushi," she said, watching Illya carefully open the beautifully wrapped package. His eyes widened as he lifted out two cream colored stoneware dishes decorated with delicate white plum blossoms. Two smaller dishes and two sets of bamboo twist chopsticks followed. His blue eyes softened into a gentle smile.

"These are very beautiful, Tammy," he said, his voice low. "They shall remind me of you and your kindness." Tammy blushed appealingly.

"The plum blossom … shiro-ume … is a symbol of elegance and … beauty." Her blush deepened. Napoleon cleared his throat, pointed to his watch, and nodded to his friends.

"It's getting late, don't you think? Time for all good little spies and their little helpers to be tucked into bed!" Illya grabbed Napoleon's hand and pulled him down.

"What do you think you are doing, Napoleon?" His voice was hard as steel, matching the glare in his eyes. Napoleon patted his shoulder and grinned.

"Well, partner mine; you've got yourself a brand new set of sushi dishes and chopsticks." His dark brown eyes gleamed with mischief. "You've got fresh sushi in the fridge, courtesy of April and Sherry via _Mr. Itsuhari's Sushi-Bar-A-Go-Go_." He nodded toward Tammy. "A bottle of excellent vodka chilling in the freezer … and, a beautiful young woman to share them with. Do I have to draw a picture for you, IK?"

Illya grinned, watching his friend's, arms laden with gifts, attempt to tug on hats and coats. The whispered conversation between Napoleon and Tammy did not go unnoticed.

"Um, Illya … Tammy's going stay a few minutes to help clean up the wrapping paper and things. See you tomorrow, tovarisch!" Napoleon winked and the door closed behind him.

Illya watched Tammy move gracefully around the cluttered room collecting bits and pieces of abandoned wrapping paper and carefully placing his gifts beneath the tree. She turned to face him and he smiled.

"Miss Taminaka," he began, "uh … Tammy, Napoleon tells me that I have fresh sushi in the fridge and the bottle of Matryoshkina vodka you brought should be nearly frozen by now." The beautiful young woman allowed a lovely smile to break on her small, delicate face. "And, I have a new set of sushi dishes begging to be used. Would you care to join me?"

"Yes … Illya-san … I would be most honored."

He smiled, silently thanking his partner for the evening … and silently thanking Tammy Taminaka for the fractured ankle.

-30-


End file.
